


Silver Skin

by criminycakes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Bones the Dog (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Castiel and Jimmy Novak are Twins (Supernatural), Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Cults, Dog Owner Sam Winchester, Dog-Lover Sam Winchester, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gardener Castiel (Supernatural), Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Impala Feels (Supernatural), Kid Claire Novak, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Neighbors, Small Towns, Twins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-10-19 20:49:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20663573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/criminycakes/pseuds/criminycakes
Summary: After an unorthodox childhood, Castiel Novak has made a small life for himself in his strange, magical hometown. His days revolve around family, gardening, and friends, but everything changes when two new neighbours move in and a long-buried mystery from Castiel's past suddenly rises to the surface of Birch Ridge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be added with each new chapter.
> 
> This is the first fic that I've started to publish before it's been completely written and edited yet, so please bear with me, time-wise!
> 
> Luh ya,  
Me
> 
> ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

The town of Birch Ridge contained many things that made it a town just like any other. It had houses, shops, schools, restaurants, churches, and a town hall. It was also full of things that set it apart from other towns. For one thing, it was founded around a single tree. The story of its founding had been told and retold by its inhabitants until it took on the tone of legend. No one was quite sure how much of it was real, but that didn't seem to matter. The exalted fiction of it all was more true to the town than a historical record could ever be. The story, give or take a few details, went like this: The settlers of Birch Ridge, before they were the settlers of Birch Ridge, wandered inland - a ragged group of aching legs and half-empty bellies. When they reached the huge birch standing alone in a clearing someone sighed and sat down. Here, they decided. Here will do. It feels peaceful and we are tired. The spiders spun quiet webs, undisturbed. The trees stretched slowly upward. The air was clear, the leaves fell as if gravity was a choice rather than a rule. Now, though they didn't yet know it, they were settlers. Their exhaustion made it easier to accept the strange atmosphere. They lit a fire with twigs and smouldering damp logs and ate sitting in the grass. When one of the women went into labour within several hours of their arrival and gave birth to a beautiful baby speckled like a heifer, they put it down to the effects of hawthorn or travelling too late in pregnancy. His large mournful eyes were open to the sky. Blood on the grass. The softness of new skin. The settlers had made up their minds and, despite the oddities, felt at home. They stayed.

Over the years the town grew outward in spokes. Unplanned, chaotic, its roads crooked and curving around parts of the forest. The settlers had babies who grew up and had babies of their own. Other towns sprang up in the surrounding areas, and grew, and befriended Birch Ridge distantly, the way children do when they learn to use friendship as a tool. The town kept its mysteries even as it evolved, even as its people built the community up from nothing.

It became a small town with a big heart, as its motto succinctly proclaimed in peeling paint on the weather-worn welcome sign. A sweet place with just enough character to keep it from being trite and with something indefinable that made those passing through lift their heads and take notice. Not that there were many of those; Birch Ridge was not a huge tourist attraction. But it did have a smaller, steadier stream of visitors during the summer months that mostly consisted of middle-aged couples on the hunt for a nice B&B and architecture students from neighbouring towns and cities.

The oldest section of the town, where the students amassed on weekdays armed with sketchbooks and pens, was filled with English colonial cottages that clashed weirdly with several streets of Queen Anne buildings. The old styles then gradually gave way to bungalows that housed mostly offices and clinics innocently masquerading as family-friendly homes but for the crisp official signs on the front lawns saying things like 'Dental Practice, Dr. L. Mueller.' After those came the more modern homes and a couple of suburban-style housing estates. It was a strange mishmash of a town made of pieces of local history cobbled together and polished with use, routine, and the comfort of familiarity.

Against all odds, Birch Ridge made it to the modern age with a population of about 10,000 people who all lived lives as close to normal as the town could allow. Birch Ridge had a bank, bars, grocery stores, cafés, a post office, and a bus stop. Just like any other town. And, just like any other town, secrets.

Every place has secrets, of course, but the most fascinating and powerful secrets of Birch Ridge were not kept by its people. The town kept its own secrets like buried childhood toys. When someone stumbled into one, as they did on occasion, they, like their parents and grandparents before them, learned to look the other way. They shrugged and accepted it as 'just another one of those things' and continued living their lives secure in the knowledge that sometimes it's best to leave strange enough alone.

In the heart of the old neighbourhood, almost exactly 150 years after Birch Ridge was founded, Castiel Novak woke with a twitch and a gasp, and something was set in motion. 

Castiel gagged, the taste of ash heavy on his tongue. Just a dream, he told himself firmly. It's not real. He forced himself to lie still, to loosen each of his muscles one by one, to relax into the comfort of his bed. The tension unwound. The taste faded. His room swam into clearer focus. He concentrated on the familiar wallpaper and bright wooden furniture. The smell of home, the patterns of early morning sunlight on the walls that he could have traced with his eyes closed. All of the sensations as integral to his mornings as waking itself. Deep breaths. Don't worry about inhaling smoke. There is no fire.

He rolled over, letting pockets of chilly air in under the quilt, and looked out at the sunrise. The peaceful morning rippled through the glass. He inhaled deeply in the vain hope that filling himself with cold air would magically equalize his temperature and make getting out of bed less of a trial. After several minutes of deep breathing and battling the pull of queasy drowsiness, he gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn't put it off much longer; the last time he'd slept in, Inias had laid out the coin trays in the till backward and Castiel had spent the day fumbling and giving people incorrect change, his hand moving by muscle memory. He was a creature of habit by nature or nurture and his routine was his lifeline. Each scheduled day, in fact, formed a net of lifelines that worked to hold him up and give him something to cling to. And part of his routine was getting up early.

In one fluid motion, he threw the sheets off, letting the cold in with a frenzied whuff. Goosebumps rose on his skin even as he pulled his pajamas tightly around himself and padded over to his orchids. They rambled and bloomed waxily in pots on his dresser, their broad olive-green leaves obscuring every inch of wood.

“Good morning, you picky photosynthesising parasites.” He scanned the roots for mould or mites and leaned over the one with yellow blooms dusted with pink spots, which had several still-closed buds at the end of its stem. 'How are you feeling today?' He blew on its leaves affectionately and a cloud of cinnamon exploded into the air and went up his nose. He hastily withdrew, sneezing and rubbing his eyes. He knew it was what his sister Hannah would call 'new-agey' to use cinnamon on orchids, but it worked so much better than anti-fungal spray and it made his room smell like a bakery. Which was a change, because the rest of the house smelled like moss and earth and old books.

Castiel slid in his socks down the hallway to the stairs. This, he thought, was the best part of living alone. He could act as odd as he wanted and no one would ever know. He grabbed the banister and swung himself around to pound down the stairs and into the kitchen. He hummed as he put the coffee on and watered all the plants. So many people had spoken of the dangers of bringing work home but Castiel couldn't help himself. He loved plants. Plants were odd and dependable and unique. They didn't just sit there like furniture, they breathed and moved and cleared the air of toxins. They followed their own rules and didn't let anyone push them around – put a cactus in peat moss? It would die out of sheer obstinacy. Plants knew where they belonged and acted accordingly: Most leafy things had more backbone than people did.

Once the plants were watered, Castiel stood staring out the window and listening to the coffee dripping into the pot. The backyard was half-invisible through a curtain of mist, the huge old trees looming and sprawling like a vast slow army. The usually-rustling leaves were perfectly still and, if he squinted, the whole scene looked like a painting in shades of dawn-breaking purple and blue. He stared unseeingly at the expanse of lawn covered with childhood memories: The old tire swing that his brothers had insisted they put up after watching To Kill A Mockingbird, the tool shed that Castiel used to sneak cigarettes in, the flower beds their mother had so carefully pruned. Despite all of these memories, their parents had wanted to sell the house when Castiel and his siblings were all grown. Castiel couldn't bear the idea. Even though he was no longer dependent on his parents, the thought of losing their home opened up a chasm of fear between his ribs. After a week the anxiety was unbearable, so he'd sat his parents down and asked to buy the place before they put it up for sale. They'd called the real estate company to cancel everything and had offered their son the house outright, saying that they could afford a slightly smaller place with their savings alone, but Castiel had insisted on giving them a reasonable amount. He always felt he already owed them too much. Some things could never be repaid.

The sudden lack of sound as the coffee finished dripping broke him out of his thoughts. He pulled out a mug (“NOT PAINT WATER,” it said) and glanced at the clock as he took a sip, scalding his tongue. This was the point in the morning where his breakfast was usually finished, but he hadn't made any. He recalculated his arrival time at work factoring in a stop at the café en route. He swore his subconscious regularly made him late on purpose so he could treat himself to Gabriel's pastries. Thinking about it, he factored in an extra ten minutes for breakfast because it would take a miracle for Gabe to relinquish a captive audience in less than five.

As he turned to go get changed and brush his teeth, something caught his eye. The spider plant on top of the china cabinet didn't need as much as care as the other plants, so it hung from the ceiling in a corner, out of the way. This morning, though, something was wrong. Castiel could feel it like a physical presence. The plant was wilted and off-colour. The wrong-ness leaked like invisible fumes from the pot and stretched beseechingly toward Castiel. Help me. He heard the request as clearly as if someone had whispered it in his ear. Frowning, he reached up, lifted the pot from the hanging basket, and brought it down to eye level, its spindly drooping leaves twirling and catching on the sleeves of his bathrobe. He examined it, turning the pot, the wrong feeling curdling in his stomach, dark and murky. The plant was less than perky and the soil definitely looked odd. What was that on the surface, among the lower leaves? Mildew? He touched it and it dissolved beneath his touch. No, not mildew. Ash. Castiel recoiled and nearly dropped the pot. For a moment all he could see were leaping flames. He shuddered. The plant suffered in his hands. The ash coated his fingertips.

He stared around the kitchen as if expecting to see an open fire that could explain why there was a layer of ash on one of his houseplants. Nothing. The dark unhappiness of the plant called to him, so he took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. The pot was smooth and heavy. The leaves brushed his hands. He focused on the knot of twisted pain he could feel in the soil and imagined his hands gently and steadily untangling it, even as his hands in reality simply held the pot. He swayed where he stood. After a minute or two the wrong feeling ebbed and he opened his eyes. The spider plant was a healthy bright green and the soil was dark and ash-less once again. There was nothing left behind to even suggest a disturbance. Except...Castiel looked at the grey smudge on his fingers.

He rinsed the ash off in the bathroom sink and stared at his reflection as he brushed his teeth, trying to figure out if he was losing his mind. He didn't look like a crazy person. He looked like a confused and spooked man who was about to be late for work. He shook himself. He scrubbed at his teeth energetically and ran a brush he called Losing Battle through his hair before shrugging on his clothes and hurrying from the room.

Three minutes and twenty seven seconds later he walked to his car armed with his comically large all-weather coat, keys, wallet, and lust for baked goods. The old trees cracking the sidewalks all down his street stood serenely above the scene. The windows reflected the early morning light through panes dewy with condensation. Castiel closed the car door as gently as he could and, as always, prayed vaguely in some upward direction while he turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered twice, rattled, caught. “Another point in favour of a higher power,” he muttered waspishly, and stared pointedly at the dashboard. The car rattled as he manoeuvred out of the driveway and down the residential street, eyes catching briefly on the 'SOLD' sign next door. He'd been meaning to ask his neighbour, Mrs. McGuirk, about who would be moving in to her former place. 

When Castiel was younger and his parents worked, he used to sneak out of school and go to Mrs. McGuirk's house. She had been in the house next door for what felt like forever, and she was the perfect companion for a quiet anxious child. She was chatty in an absent-minded way unless she had her nose in a book or a jazz record on. She never expected anything of Castiel and gave him free reign over her house and backyard, where he would sit and read her books in a cocoon of silence or climb trees to pretend he was a jungle cat. She had never chastised him for skipping school, and that bond forged from a shared secret was essential and comforting throughout Castiel's teenage years. She was the first person Castiel had come out to, and she was the opposite of surprised. It was Mrs. McGuirk who'd taught his brothers Gabe and Jimmy to bake. She had tried to teach Castiel and Hannah as well, but they were more interested in eating her food than replicating it. Her house had been one of the safe havens of his childhood, an oasis of calm he could always depend on. Castiel had grown up as she had grown older, and they were still close.

As the gear shift shivered in his grip with the chugging of the engine, Castiel pictured strangers next door colonising the old porch swing, altering the eternal smell of tiger balm and herbs in the house. He'd miss the kindly presence next door, the music floating through the windows, the warm glow of friendship and belonging. Castiel's stomach growled and he had to suppress a feeling of loss. It wasn't as if she was going far. She'd still be nearby.

The low morning sunshine burst through the trees and flashed on his dashboard in a hectic binary pattern of light and shade as he drove past curtained windows and damp lawns and the occasional ruddy-faced jogger. Puzzle pieces that made up Birch Ridge. Home. For Castiel, being at home was essential. What he dreaded above all else was the loneliness and emptiness of other places. He'd had enough of that to last several lifetimes. When he walked through other towns or cities all he saw was dirt and death. Naked human need, sadness, lives half-lived, a hopeless sky heavy enough to crush him. That was why he lived where he did. The Ridge had a loneliness and an emptiness, of course, but the loneliness and emptiness of Birch Ridge was his loneliness and emptiness. When Castiel was at home, the outside matched his inside.

He rubbed his fingertips together. Was he imagining it or could he still feel the silty powdery slickness of ash? A discordant note in an otherwise familiar song. It was a small thing, such a small thing, but it felt like a rift in space had opened and disturbed reality. He felt out of place and slightly unreal, as if someone had drawn him as a clumsy afterthought onto the canvas of his life.

The car rumbled on the gravel of the café parking lot and the feeling faded as he rolled to a stop. He looked around and saw Mrs. McGuirk stepping out of the café as he himself stepped out his car. He waved and smiled.

“Morning, Mrs. McGuirk.”

“Good morning, Young Novak.”

The rest of his siblings were always called by their names, but to Mrs. McGuirk Castiel was always Young Novak. He never wondered why; Mrs. McGuirk was a bundle of Unfathomable Tendencies.

“I saw the 'sold' sign this morning. Congratulations!”

Mrs. McGuirk smiled. “Thank you! I had a few offers from stuffy retirees but it's going to two brothers, quite young actually. You'll like them!” She planted proud hands on well-fed hips.

Castiel felt a rush of affection for the short woman in front of him. He was absolutely touched. He knew, without her having to say anything, that she'd made that choice for him. She always did encourage him to make friends. “I can't wait to meet them. So are you off on a whirlwind adventure?”

“Fu – heck no. Well, not unless you call trekking around the county an adventure. I just want to get to know my home a bit better. It's shocking what you miss with walls in the way.”

Castiel nodded. “You know, I'm an adult now, Mrs. McGuirk, you can swear around me.”

The corners of Mrs. McGuirk's eyes crinkled as she laughed. “I'll start swearing around you when you drop the 'Mrs.' and start calling me Hyun-Sook.”

“I could definitely try,' Castiel replied. 'Anyway, I'd better run. I'm late.”

She patted him on the arm and leaned in for a hug. “Say no more. We both know Gabe talks a blue streak. I'll see you around soon enough, Young Novak, you can come for a drive with me in the R.V. when you have some free time.”

“I would love to.' He hugged her back with one arm. 'Bye, Mrs. McGuirk.”

A peculiar calm settled like icing sugar over Castiel as he entered the café. The bell over the door chimed brightly and Gabe's voice rang out from the back.

“With you in a sec!”

Castiel smiled and took a deep breath of the warm air, surreptitiously checking on the peace lilies in the windows and the potted rubber tree. He had grown them all in his greenhouse at work and liked to see them thriving, even if Jimmy called him a helicopter mom and Gabe told him he had to cut the apron strings. Speak of the devil. Gabe emerged from the back with a bottle of hazelnut syrup. 

“Cassie! Here for breakfast? Hey,” he checked the clock above the counter, “shouldn't you be at work?”

Castiel waved his hands in an 'I know, I know' gesture. “I didn't have time to make food. Any croissants today?”

“Always for you, my brother from another mother.”

“And father,” Castiel reminded him.

Gabe rolled his eyes. “It's an expression, Cassie dearest.”

“Is that Cas?!” Another voice rang out. Castiel's twin joined Gabe at the counter, grinning and stirring something floury in a big metal bowl. Puffs of fine powder rose up and settled on his forearms. 

Castiel smiled back. “Morning, Jimmy.”

Gabe shielded himself from the flying flour. “Watch it, Master Chef, you're gonna re-dust the counters!”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and drifted back to the kitchen, talking to Cas over his shoulder as he went. “Come by later, we can talk recipes!”

“I will. Am I still on for baby-sitting?”

“Yes please. You know Claire wouldn't have it any other way. Sundays are her fav – ” Here Gabe cut him off by pushing him forcefully into the kitchen. Castiel laughed.

“I'll bring you a croissant, they're almost done. And you're getting a chocolate one. Don't argue.”

“Argue? With you? Is that even possible?”

Gabe smiled a sweet smile that fooled no one. “Nope. I have immunity. I'm the oldest.” He followed Jimmy into the kitchen and Castiel took the opportunity to hastily shove a few bills into the tip jar. He repositioned the jar so that it wasn't visible from the till. He knew his brothers wouldn't accept it, so he tucked money in the tip jar as often as he could. He jumped when Gabe's voice echoed out from the other room. “Cassie, ask me how my date went!”

Castiel raised his voice. “How DID it go? What was his name again?”

Gabriel came back out with a brown paper bag that looked like it had a whole herd of pastries squashed inside. “Doesn't matter. His name isn't important. The important part is that he was allergic to dogs.”

“Aw, your one deal-breaker.”

“I'll say. And he was so gorgeous, too. It was a real tragedy.”

“I'm sorry, Ga - ”

“We had to go back to his house.” Gabe's eyes sparkled.

“Gabe! What happened to 'no more one night stands?' You said you wanted something serious and - ”

“I, Gabriel Novak, used the word serious?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, Cassie, obviously I was lying. But ask me how the sex was! It was WEIRD, he wanted to - ”

Here Castiel covered his ears as tightly as he could. “I can't hear you, I'm not listening, I don't want to picture my big brother in COMPROMISING POSITIONS!”

He heard Gabe's voice, even though it was muffled by his hands. “Compromising is right, I'll tell you. He had me up on the counter - ”

Castiel grabbed the bag of pastries and ran. He heard Jimmy laughing as the door swung closed.


	2. Chapter 2

The pastries were half eaten and Castiel's lap was covered in crumbs by the time he pulled in beside Inias' car in the parking lot of The Nursery. The Nursery was his pride and joy. When he had moved back to Birch Ridge after four long years at college, he had been lost and tired, ready for weeks of sleep and the soothing familiarity of working on his parents' garden. He had filled the house with seed trays, bulbs, forcing jars, paper towels covered in rooting succulent leaves, cuttings, and houseplants of all shapes and sizes. When his parents could no longer use the kitchen without tripping over planters, they had gently suggested that Castiel look for work in the local garden centre. This he had done, and he had taken over when the owner, Joshua, retired, changing the name from 'Birch Ridge Garden Centre and Nursery' to simply 'The Nursery.' 

Under Castiel's careful tending, The Nursery had been reinvigorated. He had expanded the range of plants and supplies, added more greenhouses for keeping the plants in more specific conditions, and started offering short classes on alternative gardening. The Nursery had a good reputation in town; people said that the plants they got from Castiel were healthier, bloomed longer, and grew taller. 

The unpleasant memories of the morning disappeared as Castiel stepped out and brushed himself off, thinking of the birds that would have a field day with his fallen crumbs. He didn't bother locking the car before he went in; The Nursery was set back from the road and, really, no one ever worried about locking their doors properly in Birch Ridge.

Inias was already there, sipping what Castiel assumed was coffee from a glass thermos. He smiled at Castiel in greeting.

“Morning! How are you?”

Castiel smiled back. “Can't complain. Would you like a pastry?” He offered Inias the half-full bag.

“Would I ever!” Inias pulled out a raspberry turnover and bit into it with his usual enthusiasm. He made a noise of absolute satisfaction and washed the bite down with his coffee.

“What is it today?” Castiel asked. Inias never drank the same coffee twice in a row. Castiel supposed it came with the territory of being just out of high school and still finding yourself.

Inias swallowed and shook the thermos, swishing the mixture around. Castiel saw some dark powder swilling at the bottom. “Two shots of espresso, evaporated milk, nutmeg, and brown sugar. I'm still not sure about it. Want to try?”

“Ahhh, no thanks. I'll pass.”

“Suit yourself!” Inias fumbled to tie the strings of his thick green apron, faded from washing. “You're never tempted to switch it up, try new things? Boldly go where the path hasn't been forged or whatever?”

“Well, not with coffee anyway. Can you handle the shop and the till today? I have some work to do in the greenhouses.”

“Sure thing! Hey, how are the pets coming along?”

Inias and Castiel affectionately referred to Castiel's gardening pet projects as the pets. One section of the greenhouses at the back was reserved for Castiel's experiments; grafting plants together, rehabilitating very sick specimens, growing herbs for friends and family, and trying out strange new non-native plants.

“They're doing well. Although I think the humidity will need to be adjusted and the vents will need to be closed halfway.” And with that said, Castiel's work day began.

The first greenhouse was for seedlings. Trays upon trays of seeds, bags of compost, peat, perlite, lime, calcium, rocks. Soaked husks cracking open, tiny roots emerging and drinking, the first signs of sprouts peeking over the tops of the trays. Toward the far end – pots. Rows of new homes spreading out like a tiny leafy suburb.

The second greenhouse was for re-potting to allow the plants to grow to full size. Breathless, recovering, putting all of their energy into new growth, the plants would stay in this greenhouse for several weeks before being brought out to be displayed and sold.

The third greenhouse was for the pets. This was the greenhouse that housed sick plants, orchids, plants that Castiel took cuttings from to give as gifts, strange plants from other climates that needed specialist attention, and several amateur bonsai trees that Castiel was trying his hand at. His favourite so far was a Scots pine that was a deliberate twist of dead wood and living tree. Stripes of softened light fell across the workbench and Castiel ran his hand along the small curled trunk of the pine, combing his fingers gently through the needles. If he stayed absolutely silent and focused only on the tree, he could almost feel the bark humming at specific pitches.  
Dry, this one said. Thirsty.  
Happy, the next one hummed.  
The last one hummed only hunger.  
Castiel poured a small amount of water onto the base of the Scots pine and felt soothed in empathy. He mixed fertiliser into the water for the last tree and left the middle one as it was.

For the next several hours, he moved through the warm, loamy scent of the greenhouse, watering plants that needed it, moving pots, trimming, fertilising, propagating. Plants were so easy for Castiel to deal with. Their needs were readily apparent to him, and anything he didn't know he could look up and learn. Humans were a different story, he thought, as the dark shapes of the customers passed by outside the greenhouse. Humans kept their feelings close to the chest. No wilting leaves to signify neglect, no brown patches from overwatering, no reasons as obvious as root rot or slugs to explain distress. Castiel had trouble figuring them out, especially when it came to romance.

His siblings, Hannah especially, always told him he should get out and date more, but Castiel hated dating. It was invariably an awkward fumble through small talk and probing questions that felt more like being quizzed in school than connecting with another person. It made him feel anxious, exposed, and uncomfortable. Gabe's advice was to just relax and be himself, but Castiel couldn't find the words to explain to Gabe, a natural extrovert, how impossible that was. Besides, Castiel thought, wasn't hating the thought of dating a perfect example of being himself? He could either be himself or he could be charming and talkative – the two were mutually exclusive.

His thoughts were interrupted by Inias' voice. “Castiel? Are you in here?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes, I'm here. What is it?”

Inias' face appeared at the entrance to the greenhouse. “There's a woman inside asking to speak to you. She has some questions about one of the workshops.”

Castiel's forehead creased in confusion. “Why does she need me for that?” He was only thinking out loud as he brushed his hands off, but Inias answered anyway.

“I think she's also interested in one of your teas. She's from some garden club. She said you gave one of her friends some tea as a get-well gift last year.”

Castiel, following Inias back to the main building, groaned. “I keep telling them, it's just...just tea!”

Inias shrugged and lowered his voice. “But she won't give up. Besides, wouldn't your tea be a good business to have on the side?”

“No!” Castiel exclaimed. “I'm not certified or - ” He cut himself off as they walked through the door and he saw the woman at the till. She beamed over at him, face seeming to float above a neon-bright pink shirt with vivid orange lettering scrawled across it that spelled out 'Avant-Garden Society.' Castiel fought the urge to squint against the brightness of it all.

“Castiel!” she cooed. “How are you?” Her voice was as luridly optimistic as her clothing. Castiel resigned himself to the inevitable.

Ten minutes later, she walked out the door with at least six bags of tea blends that Castiel had given her as a 'gift,' and Castiel's eyes closed for a long moment to rest from the assault of her shirt. They opened again when he heard Inias laughing.

“It's not funny,” Castiel snapped.

“But Castiel,” Inias quipped through a huge grin, “Aren't you happy to have such honest and straightforward friends?”

Castiel shuddered. “I feel like a witch doctor. A peddler of snake oil.”

“Well, you gave me one of your teas once when I had strep throat and honestly it made me feel like a million times better.”

“That was the antibiotics, Inias.” Castiel tried not to sound waspish.

“Maybe.” Inias shrugged and half-smiled. “I still think you should make it a side business. What's wrong with giving people healthy tea? Besides, I've seen you make yourself tea with orange peel and other shi- stuff when you've got a cold.”

“That's because it's delicious,” he protested, and his phone rang.

“Can I take my lunch break?” Inias said in a rush before Castiel could take the call. 

Castiel nodded and answered his phone. “Hello?”

Jimmy's voice sounded in his ear as Inias undid his apron and walked out. “Hi, it's me. Are you busy?”

“Mildly, but not really. Why?”

“Just wanted to ask you if you'd come by a little early tonight so we can talk before babysitting? I want to get your opinion on something!”

“Of course. Is it a new recipe?” Castiel was often Jimmy's guinea pig when it came to new pastries.

“Yes, sort of. It's a special one.”

Cas' curiosity was piqued. “Can't wait to try it.” In the background of the call, he heard Gabe's laugh. It was the svelte, practised laugh that Gabe used when he was trying to impress someone. Cas' lips twitched into a sly smile. “Who is Gabe talking to right now?”

He could hear the humour in Jimmy's voice as he answered. “Shameless, isn't he? It's actually one of your new neighbours! From what he's said they haven't properly moved in yet but they're getting some stuff ready at the house and need lunch. Gabe is basically holding their sandwiches hostage.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “What is he like?”

Jimmy answered as if he had seen Castiel's eye-roll. “You know Gabe, he couldn't disengage his flirting gears even if he tried. Besides, I think he's barking up the wrong tree. This guy is wearing flannel and hiking boots.” Castiel could tell that Jimmy was peeking at the new neighbour from around the corner when his voice dropped to a whisper. “Actually, he seems really decent. He's tolerating Gabe's ridiculous eyebrow waggles so – oh holy shit, he's blushing.”

Castiel felt his eyes widen. “Really? My first instinct when Gabe does that eyebrow thing is to glue them in place in his sleep.”

Jimmy hastily choked back a laugh, and Castiel imagined him ducking around the corner so as not to get caught spying. “I think they saw me,” he whispered. “I'll see you later.” And he hung up.


	3. Chapter 3

There was hot breath in Dean's ear, flooding his senses with panting desperation. 

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped, overwhelmed, and felt his entire body tense. “Fuck, that's so, so fucking gross. Sam, control your dog!”

Sam glanced up from the GPS on his phone and wrapped a hand in Bones' collar, guiding him backward, away from Dean's face. Bones wagged his tail from the back seat as if he hadn't just nearly made them crash.

“Sorry, it's just...the GPS keeps glitching and saying we're still on the highway.” Sam returned to squinting in consternation at the location settings on his phone as Dean tried in vain to wipe the dog spit from his ear without gagging.

“Remind me again why we couldn't put him in a crate in the trailer.”

“He gets nervous, Dean, and carsick. Would you rather get some surprise affection or have to scrub dog barf off the seats?”

“Third option: dog burgers.”

“Dude. Tone it down.”

Dean, still irritable from the unwanted furry affection, retorted, “He can't understand. You do know that Bones doesn't speak English, right?”

“There! Got it. Take the second left, then an immediate right. Then we just drive down that road for a few minutes.”

“On it.”

Dean tried not to think about all the dog fur that was going to be coating the seats. He had inherited the car last year when their father had been killed by a drunk driver, and had subsumed his grief in working on her. He had slaved away for months repairing the frame, the upholstery, and the parts under the hood as if removing every trace of the accident could somehow magically erase it from their lives and bring John Winchester back. When he had finally finished and peeled away the protective tape after the paint job, the car had looked as good as new, and Dean had picked up a pipe and broken the windows of every single car in the 'for scrap' section of Bobby's yard.

Now they were driving his baby hours across the country ahead of the moving van to spend their first night in the house they had put a down payment on with John's life insurance, so Dean was stressed, to say the least. Bones did not help the situation. Dean wasn't all that fond of dogs, and absolutely detested having animals in the car, but Sam loved him and Dean loved Sam. They had been sharing a crappy apartment when Sam had been in college and Dean had been working at Bobby's, and they had long since learned to co-exist. It was cheaper for them to buy a house together than it was to rent separately, and they planned on selling the place after a few years and making enough that they could get their own places.

Birch Ridge was a location that worked for both of them: Sam had landed a minor job at the nearby university and it was a small enough town that Dean felt comfortable and confident that he'd be able to scratch out a living with so many commuters and their cars around. Plus. Dean reminded himself, having a house and yard instead of a cramped apartment meant that Bones could spend more time outside (read: out from under Dean's feet).

Dean turned left, then right, and then they were driving down a smaller road lined with very old, very tall trees. The light in the car became softer as they drove through patches of shade. Bones tried to look out the window and left a nose print on the glass.

“Alright, it should be...on the left somewhere....” Sam craned his neck around to look, and then pointed. “There!”

There was a plump, friendly-looking woman waving at the end of a short driveway in front of a weather-beaten house that somehow managed to look simultaneously cosy and haunted. She smiled as they pulled up and greeted them with cheerful enthusiasm.

“You must be Sam and Dean! I'm Hyun-Sook McGuirk.”

“So nice to finally meet you in person,” Sam said as he shook her hand.

Dean offered his own with a smile and a simple, “Nice to meet you.”

“Did you find the place okay?”

Sam hastily stuck his phone back in his pocket and walked around the car to let Bones out. “Uh...yeah, it wasn't too bad.” Bones hopped out of the car and shook himself, then ran to sniff at Hyun-Sook's feet.

Dean thought he hid his grin but Hyun-Sook noticed and laughed. “That's alright,” she soothed, patting Bones, “it's easy to get turned around the first time. You'll get used to it. So tonight's the first night, huh?”

“Yeah, we just brought the basics.” Sam indicated the trailer hitched on the back of the car as Hyun-Sook led them to the front door. “Thanks so much for coming to walk us through. Our old landlord just left the key under the mat.”

Hyun-Sook looked personally offended. “That's pretty rude.”

“That's what I said!” Dean exclaimed. “You should've seen Sam trying to figure out the shower though, I haven't laughed so hard since.”

Hyun-Sook beamed at them and led them through the front door. “I can already tell you two are going to like Castiel. That's the next door neighbour on that side.” She pointed in response to their questioning looks.

After a 15 minute tour of the house, Dean already knew that if the next-door neighbour was anything like Hyun-Sook they were definitely going to have to go over and make friends. 

“...and that's why I'll never go to Tahiti again,” Hyun-Sook finished.

Dean was stunned. “I can't believe you actually met a mafia boss! And how did you learn to do all of that with just a shoelace?”

Hyun-Sook tapped her nose and winked at him. “The girl scouts didn't do a huge amount for me but it sure taught me all I needed to know about knots. Anyway, I'll leave you boys to get settled in. My number is on the fridge if you need anything, and you can always just knock on Castiel's door, he knows this place like the back of his hand.”

Dean, amused, got the distinct feeling that he and Sam were being set up on some sort of play date with a grown-ass man. After Hyun-Sook was gone, he and Sam spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon hauling the contents of the trailer inside. Of course Sam had brought every single one of his health food cookbooks, and stacked them all right in the middle of the kitchen counter. As the two of them were moving Dean's memory foam mattress in, Sam huffed, “So what do you think?”

“I think I've got dibs on the big room,” Dean answered with a wicked grin.

“C'mon, for real.” Sam backed around the corner of the door and nearly fell over an excited Bones running back and forth behind him. Despite this, they managed to get the mattress into the room.

“I like it here.” Dean wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve. “Couple of repairs and it should be ship-shape.”

“What about the town?”

“It's fine, it's a town. Cute place.” Dean shrugged. “Why?”

Sam was silent for a moment, then said, “I have this feeling about it.”

“Uhh, okay, Peter Venkman, did you get slimed or something? See the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, go ahead, laugh it up. It's not like that. I just feel like...we're supposed to be here.”

Dean stared at him, nonplussed, refusing to egg Sam on. He preferred to stay on terra firma, not get into philosophical discussions about whether or not destiny was real. “We are. We bought this house. You put the address in the GPS.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Whatever. I'm starving, I'm going to go grab some lunch.”

Dean perked up as Sam walked to the door. “Now there's an idea I can get behind!” He threw Sam the keys.

While Sam was gone, the afternoon stretched closer and closer toward evening. Dean put some of Sam's weird green dog treats into the rubbery ball with holes that Sam said was “important for Bones' mental stimulation” and rolled it into the living room to keep Bones out of his way. Back in his room, he slid the scissors through the tape on a cardboard box. He unpacked it item by item; his headphones, a large CD wallet, a few * ahem * adult magazines, and a few photo frames. He placed each frame delicately around his mattress, which was lying on the floor, seeing as the moving van with the bed frames wouldn't arrive until the next day. One photo was of him and Sam taken a couple years ago on Sam's birthday, one was the two of them with Bobby when they were kids, and one was a family portrait with John, Mary, young Dean, and baby Sam. John and Mary looked exhausted but genuinely happy, and Dean was looking at Sam, amused, as if Sam had just done something interesting.

Dean heard Bones rattling the treats around in a valiant effort to free them, and then heard a different kind of rattling. He frowned and followed the noise the fridge, which was chuntering and whirring. He put his hand out to open the door and suddenly knew, as if he could see with x-ray vision, that something was blocking the compressor fan. He snatched his hand back from the fridge, disoriented. The fridge made the noise again. Dean tried to ignore the strangeness of that intrusive thought and pulled the fridge forward to unplug it and get at the rear access panel.

When Sam returned thirty minutes later, Dean sat behind the fridge, access panel unscrewed, cleaning dust from between the blades of the compressor fan.

“Dean?”

“In here. Fixing the fridge.”

Sam strode in, a bag in his hand that smelled fantastic. “What's wrong with it?” 

“Dust blocking the compressor fan.”

Sam looked impressed. “How'd you figure that out?”

At that, Dean felt...not uneasy, exactly...but confused. “I just knew it, I guess. Hey, what took you so long?”

To his surprise, Sam's face flushed red, and Dean could have sworn he felt the temperature in the room rise by a few degrees. “The guy who runs the cafe is a real talker. I got you...uh...some kind of...sandwich...thing?” He tossed the bag to Dean and cleared his throat, then turned to leave without meeting Dean's eyes. 

Dean practically bubbled over with delight. He was going to tease Sam about this forever. “Thanks!” He called out at Sam's retreating back. “How much of a discount did you get, lover boy?” He wolf-whistled and Sam flipped him the bird. Dean laughed.

As afternoon stretched into evening and the sun set, Sam and Dean unpacked all the boxes they had brought and the house started to at least resemble a place that was lived in. There was still stuff that would arrive tomorrow in the moving van but they at least had the basics. When the last box was finally empty and put away, they both collapsed backward onto the folded up futon in the corner of the living room. Bones took the opportunity to try to climb onto Sam's lap and lick his face. Dean winced, but Sam smiled and twisted his head out of the way, rubbed Bones down until the dog started doing that scratchy leg-kicking thing that Dean never understood. Bones wiggled, leaned his head backwards, and huffed at Sam, tail thwacking the floor. Dean felt exhausted just watching him.

Sam heaved himself up. “I'm going to take him for a quick walk. Get to know the neighbourhood a little.”

Dean draped an arm over his face dramatically. “Where do you find the energy? Have fun.”

When they left, Bones' tail whapping against the door in a staccato burst as Sam put the leash on, Dean went to the fridge and got out a beer. Sighing into the peaceful silence, he opened the screen door and stepped out onto the back porch for the first time. It was a big yard with a couple of old trees that he would've loved to have climbed as a kid. An unpainted wooden fence at about chest height ran around the perimeter, covered over in some places with ivy or flowering raspberry canes. There was a picnic table, and old-fashioned bird bath, and little else aside from thick soft grass. Warm light spilled out onto the lawn from the house to Dean's right. Must be that guy Hyun-Sook mentioned, Dean thought. He sipped his beer and heard voices from the house next door. A low gravelly tone was saying something that sounded serious and was answered by a child's laughing voice. Mr. Next-door must have a daughter. Dean couldn't make out the words but their conversation seemed silly and made him feel nostalgic for childhood in general. He smiled to himself and went back inside.


	4. Chapter 4

“See you tomorrow!” Inias called cheerfully as Cas locked the doors behind them, and waved. Cas returned the wave with a smile. He usually didn't leave straight away, he usually spent a little time alone in the humid silence of the Nursery, but today was his day to babysit Claire and he couldn't wait. He loved his niece: He had watched her grow up from a newborn to a toddler to a child, from her princess phase to the dinosaur one, and on to the obsession with animals from other countries. Every time he saw her she had a new animal to talk about.  
  
He turned the key and walked back to his car, the crumbs from the morning long gone, and drove over to Jimmy and Amelia's house. When he arrived, he noted that his parents' car was already in the driveway, and walked in with happy anticipation. As always, their house was bright, warm, and filled with people.  
  
“Cas!” Amelia greeted him at the door with a hug. Brief, because she knew he wasn't fond of them.  
  
“Hi, Amelia. How are you doing?”  
  
“Oh, you know, same as always. Run off my feet with - ” She was interrupted by Claire running into the room and grabbing Cas' legs in a hug. Amelia chuckled.  
  
“It's our night, Uncle Cas! There's a hornbill in Africa that has long eyelashes like a person and eats mice!”  
  
“What kind of mice?” He asked gravely, hugging her back with one arm.  
  
She paused for a moment, then said, “Let me check,” and dashed joyfully out again.  
  
“We finally got her that _Birds of the World_ book and she hasn't put it down since,” Amelia said over her shoulder as they joined everyone else in the living room. “She's been teaching us all about guineafowl.”  
  
Cas' parents were in an animated discussion about puff pastry with Jimmy, and walked over to hug Cas hello without stopping. He sat down as they weighed in on store-bought frozen pastry and his father winked at him.  
  
Amelia made a large T sign with her hands and raised her eyebrows questioningly at Cas, to which he nodded. She left to make a pot of tea and Claire came back into the room, hauling a bird book that looked as if it weighed more than her. She plonked it laboriously in his lap and started flipping through the pages, chatting animatedly.  
  
Eventually, Cas' parents stood to leave, and Cas walked them to their car. They went slowly so they could talk a little in the peace and quiet.  
  
“How are you, Cassy, really? You've been working so hard lately.” His mother looked at him with both concern and fondness.  
  
“I enjoy it, and Inias is a big help. He deals with most of the customers.”  
  
“We just worry about you, son,” his father added. “We don't want you to be lonely.”  
  
“Maybe Gabe has a friend he could set you up with?”  
  
“Have you MET his friends?” Cas protested mildly. His parents chuckled.  
  
“You're right, that might be a bit too much,” his mother ceded. “And you and Jimmy must be busy with the cookbook.”  
  
Cas brightened. “Yes, actually, I think he wants to talk recipes tonight before we go.”  
  
“Well have fun! We'll see you soon, you can tell us all about it. Unless it's top secret. In which case, you can still tell us all about it,” his father laughed.  
  
After his parents left, Cas and Jimmy sat down in the kitchen while Amelia listened to Claire talking about feather patterns.  
  
“Okay, you know it's our anniversary soon, right?” Jimmy kept his voice low.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“So I was thinking of doing something special. I wrote a recipe for a pie that I want to dedicate to her and include in the book. Then I could make it for her on the day.”  
  
“That's very thoughtful. What's in it?”  
  
“It's pretty strange and kind of risky, which is why I want to run it by you.”  
  
Cas nodded, feeling excited. “Don't keep me in suspense.”  
  
“Alright. Ready?”  
  
He nodded again.  
  
“It's a graham cracker crust.”  
  
“Okay, solid.”  
  
“With chili.”  
  
“Uhh...” Cas squinted but kept listening.  
  
“Dark chocolate and rum mousse for the filling. With whipped cream. And a chocolate sea salt topping. And maybe chopped Macadamia nuts on top.”  
  
“You know...that actually might work.”  
  
“Is it okay is we do a test run at the house?” Jimmy always called their childhood home 'the house.'  
  
“Of course. Just let me know when works for you and we'll set something up.”  
  
“Thanks, Cas.” He took a steadying sip of room-temperature tea and they spent a moment in comfortable silence.  
  
_We should really plan a full day to work on the book and spend some one-on-one time together_, Cas thought absently. He felt Jimmy hear him.  
  
“Do you want to close up early on Friday and we can cook and chat?”  
  
Cas was used to this. He always joked that Jimmy could read minds. “Sure,” he replied easily. They listened to Claire talking Amelia's ear off in the next room. The sound of laughter. Warmth, love, family.  
  
“Look ma, we made it,” Jimmy said quietly. One side of his mouth quirked up in a bittersweet half-smile.  
  
“Yes.” Cas felt a deep well of yearning open inside him like a gulf. “You did.”  
  
Jimmy locked eyes with him. “We did. You always made sure we would.”  
  
Cas didn't say it out loud: _I'm still back there. I always have been._ But he knew Jimmy heard him. He smelled smoke.  
  


By the time Castel pulled up to the house with Claire in the backseat, he had forgotten about it, pushing all the thoughts back into their usual corner of his mind. There was an old-fashioned black car in the driveway next door, he registered, and the lights were on. The new neighbours must have moved in today.  
  
He twisted around to face his niece. “Who's ready to make dinner?!”  
  
“Me! What are we making, Uncle Cas?”  
  
“Pizza. I'll show you how.” He got out his phone and ordered one, which Claire thought was hilarious.  
  
They spent the afternoon eating pizza, talking about birds (or listening to his niece talking about them, in Castiel's case), and playing with small plastic dinosaurs. Castiel used a different voice for each dinosaur, and Claire had special requests. He occasionally heard thumping noises and a bark or two from next door, but didn't really want to go over and introduce himself when Claire was here: He was too busy enjoying their evening and wrecking his vocal chords with dinosaur voices to make her laugh. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy, as bright and full of love as she was now, Castiel thought, watching her yawn.  
  
“Five minutes til bedtime, small bean,” he told her.  
  
“But I'm not tired, Uncle Cas,” she pouted, eyes drooping.  
  
“Oh, is that so? Tell you what. We'll get you ready for bed and if you still can't sleep after 15 minutes in bed we'll keep playing for a bit.” This was his foolproof bedtime method, because he meant it.  
  
“I can do that!” She was absolutely determined while brushing her teeth, but conked out after being horizontal in the guest room for five minutes.  
  
He left her door open and the hallway light on, and went into his room. Getting ready for bed, he thought about what his parents had said. Everyone in his family wanted him to find someone. Everyone except him. He was happy – he had his family around him (everyone except Hannah, who had moved a couple states over for college and had stayed when she was done), he had The Nursery, and he was quite content to garden and blend tea and write cookbooks with his brother. He enjoyed going on solo holidays, eating dinner alone, watching movies in absolute silence, making jokes that no one heard....  
  
He stared at his reflection in the darkened window, looking out at the cold night sky. He knew that something was missing. He couldn't hide it from himself. But the thing was...his life was safe now. He felt precarious – like he was just managing to balance a canoe in the rapids – and the addition of another person, of feelings, of compromise and communication, would throw him off kilter. His weight would shift and he would be thrown without ceremony into a roaring, rushing river and dashed on the sharp rocks of consequence.  
  
The lights next door went off and caught his attention. The new neighbours must be turning in for the night. A light closer to the back of the house flicked on, and Castiel saw one of them walk past the window. He jumped and turned away, embarrassed, but curiosity got the better of him. He turned back and immediately hoped this wasn't the one that Gabe liked, because he was gorgeous. Castiel felt his face heat up. The man rubbed a hand over his face and yawned, then pulled off his shirt. Castiel choked at the shape of his chest, the whirl of hair there, and the second twist of hair leading below the waistband of his jeans. He looked away, blushing furiously, and walked as calmly as he could to the kitchen to get a glass of water, hoping that the light would be off by the time he went back. It was, and Castiel was left with heart palpitations.


	5. Chapter 5

In the forest surrounding Birch Ridge, night fell softly, as if tip-toeing through a stranger's house. Darkness spread slowly up through thick hoary trunks until it reached the canopy just in time to see the sun slip over the horizon. An owl called out; long, low, questioning. In the darkest part of the forest where the trees were impassably dense, two bright eyes with slit pupils opened and gleamed. A creature uncoiled and stretched, as black as the night surrounding it, almost indistinguishable in the dark.

At that moment, everyone in Birch Ridge woke up. Some yawned, turned over, and went back to sleep, some felt their hearts pounding with an unknown anxiety, some wondered what had woken them, and some simply waited calmly for sleep to return. Babies fussed. Dogs barked or howled briefly.

There was a soft sound and two rows of sharp teeth clicked open, then closed. A yawn? A silent scream? Another, different sound as it moved into a clearing, feet disturbing the mouldering leaves of the forest floor. The trees quivered. Its eyes glowed yellow, seemingly lit from within. It paused in its movements, hunkering down, muscles coiled. Suddenly, almost too quickly to be true, it leapt. Claws flashed in the faint moonlight, and a tiny death was drawn out in blood. Fangs flashed again. The moon rose higher and illuminated a twitching tail, thickly padded paws, a raised ridge of fur along the creature's back.

Miles away, Castiel stared at the ceiling and waited for something. Sleep, he thought, or a solution to the way he felt. Claire blinked blearily, wondered if her uncle was still awake, then let sleep carry her away again.

Next door to Castiel, Bones gave a startling whuff and then barked properly, once. Sam blinked his eyes and adjusted the headphones of his white noise machine. Dean, though awake, kept his eyes closed, holding on to a warm feeling from a dream that had vanished as soon as he had woken. He tried to hang on to that sense of calm deep in his chest – a feeling of being loved, of comfort, of home. He chased the feeling back into sleep again.


	6. Chapter 6

The cabin, usually steeped in shadows, was awash with light, excepting the children's room. Castiel, awake and fearful, wasn't calmed by the sounds of his sleeping sibling and the other children curled up on mats around the room. The flickering light coming in under the door was almost aggressive in its brightness, and the deep adult voices rising and falling with alarming energy were overwhelming his senses. Pavlovian adrenaline popped in his veins.  
  
The voices rose and rose, getting louder and louder. Castiel marvelled at the fact that the other children weren't waking. His body felt heavy, so heavy, so tired, but all he could think about were the shadows of people moving beyond the door. He wanted to know what they were doing – and at the same time, he was afraid to see. He gathered all his energy and tried to roll over. It was like lifting a sack of bricks. His arms wobbled. He tried to get his numb legs underneath himself to push his body up, but couldn't manage. They were so heavy. Shadows and light flicked across his face. He pulled himself forward on his arms, eyes half-closed, the world wobbling erratically in his vision.  
  
Maybe, he thought, his limbs were so heavy because of all the work he and Jimmy had done that day – splitting logs, climbing into dumpsters, hiding in a crawlspace when the owners of the house they were breaking into came back unexpectedly – The Family had many jobs that needed to be done, and some roles could only be played by children. No one questioned children when they were somewhere they weren't supposed to be, and if a child was caught stealing or breaking in they were usually given a sharp warning rather than a jail sentence. Even these thoughts came to his mind sluggishly, fighting against a tide of unnatural exhaustion.  
  
Moment by moment, he dragged himself forward until he reached the bedroom door. He reached out weakly and pressed the door, which swung outward slowly enough to be silent, revealing a truly ghastly sight. One of the girls, Anael, was lying naked in the centre of the next room. She appeared to be fast asleep. Castiel's mind, confused, latched on to small details in a desperate bid to make sense of what he saw. Goosebumps covered her arms and legs. Her red hair was splayed out over the ground. His head swam, and he realised that the flickering light was caused by dozens of candles lining the room. His eyes fought to stay open, but it felt as if they were being forcefully pulled down. Tall robed figures were circling her, chanting, as one hooded figure knelt down before her. With an electric surge of horror, Castiel saw a knife glint in the firelight. He tried to scream, tried to warn her, but all that escaped his leaden throat was a moan of horror. The robed figures turned in sharp unison to face him, and he blacked out.

  


When he woke in the morning, he sat bolt upright on his sleeping mat and scanned the room for Anael so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. 'Was it a dream?' he thought frantically. Jimmy and the others were still asleep, breathing deeply. But Anael wasn't there. Horrible dread crawled up his arms and lodged in the dark of his imagination. That knife had been so sharp. Where was she?

He stood, still a little woozy, and scrambled to the door as fast as he could. He threw it open, jaw set, prepared to fight, and was discomfited to be faced with an empty and silent house. Birds chirped outside. He walked quickly through the house, on high alert, until he finally found her.

She was curled on the sofa in a plain white dress. He thought she was asleep until he saw that her eyes were open and fixed on him. He stared, wondering if she was dead, but then she blinked and whimpered.

“Anna?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

She didn't answer, just squeezed her eyes shut and curled even tighter. That was when he saw the stain:

SMALL

RED

SPREADING

He froze, felt tears of...anger? Fear? stream down his face, then forced his legs to walk to her. He leaned down and lifted her, supporting her weight as he walked her back to the children's room, the stain

SPREADING SPREADING SPREADING

Jimmy was waking up, rubbing his eyes. _He could be next, _Castiel thought, and an unwanted image of his brother twisted in pain came to his mind. That was the day Castiel burned the house down, with most of the adults in it.


End file.
